friend is a four letter word
by harkinian
Summary: A collection of moments shared between Lincoln and Altlivia on their road toward love, because love is a puzzle, and puzzles come in pieces. A/N: On indefinite hiatus.
1. Stars

A/N: Hello, everyone! This here is the beginning of a collection of Linvia drabbles based on various prompts. If you have any prompts, whether they be lyrics from a song, an object, a setting, or whatever, let me know, and I'll write something about these two with your prompt.

Happy reading!

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><p>Stars.<p>

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><p>Seven months and three days since their first meeting. 12:42 am.<p>

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><p>Lincoln looks up at the neon yellow stars decorating the sign that reads, "Live Show Girls! Best in the City!" Pointing at it, he looks at the red-haired female standing next to him.<p>

"'Live show girls', Liv. You interested?" He keeps his expression deadpan.

She chuckles. "Living in the city's _great_, don't you think?"

He shrugs nonchalantly. "I like strippers."

Her jaw drops. "Well, pardon me, Lincoln!" She looks away, _tsk tsk_ing, and he can't repress his wide, amused grin.

"You don't _actually_ believe what I just said, do you? Because if you do, you are one _gullible_ woman, Agent Dunham."

She rolls her eyes. "Of course I don't! I was just humoring you…or do you not like that?"

"I love it." He's still wearing a smile, yet his eyes are serious. Not that it matters. She's not looking at him anymore. Instead, she's tilting her head up at the night sky, searching for…something.

When she finds it, she points to it. "There, Lincoln. You see that?"

He looks at the vast expanse of darkness above him. Among the red, blue, and green artificial lights swimming about, he can just make out a tiny speck of white—a real star.

"That's something, isn't it?" she asks.

"Yeah," he answers. "It's real." He turns his head to look at her again, and this time, she's looking back at him.


	2. Snow

A/N: Thanks to weightsandwings on Tumblr for this prompt!

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><p>Snow.<p>

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><p>Fifteen months and twelve days since their first meeting. 2:37 pm.<p>

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><p>It's an unusually frosty Christmas. Since the Tear, New Yorkers have grown accustomed to mere mildly cold winters...but the National Weather Service predicts that this year will be different. This year, there will be snow.<p>

Imagine, then, the joy of the children born after the rip was made in the fabric of the universe, the rip that changed everything. Imagine how thrilled they are to at last experience snowflakes landing on the ground, on the branches of trees, on their eyelashes. Broyles even lets a few of his agents off work early to experience this wonder, this miracle of time.

Liv chooses to spend her break in Central Park. Wearing her cranberry red peacoat and equally red galoshes, sitting calmly on a park bench and enjoying the winter air, she fits right in among the giggling boys and girls, dressed in their warmest, most colorful outerwear, frolicking in the snow before her.

Unbeknownst to Liv, Lincoln is also there. He hadn't _intended _to be where she was, or so he tells himself; they just happened to end up at the same place, at the same time. But having spotted his partner of (now) slightly over a year, he decides to stir up some trouble, to test the boundaries of their friendship by chucking a fat, heavy white chunk of snow at Liv's back.

Her reaction is fierce and immediate. She rockets off the bench, turns to face him, her red hair whipping in the slight breeze, and catches him red-handed, packing another ball of snow. "Lincoln!" she yells, shaking her fist at him in mock fury. "You know what this means? This...means..._war_!"

"Bring it!" Lincoln calls back. He builds his arsenal as she builds hers, and when they've both got an equal amount of snowballs at their disposal, Liv yells, "Ready or not, here I come!"

She throws one at him, and it hits him squarely in the side of his head. Her next one gets him directly in the gut. She chuckles as he, breathless, cries, "Where'd you learn to throw like that?" Another snowball gets him in the clavicle, knocking him onto the ground, and she says, "You're talking to the reigning Olympic gold-medalist in marksmanship, Lincoln." She grins cheekily, hurling one at his shin. "Oh, I also played softball in high school," she adds as an afterthought. "Did you expect anything less than perfect from me?"

Rolling his eyes and regathering his dignity before her next one can hit him in the face, Lincoln picks himself up and begins his assault with glee. Laughing and spluttering, the two agents wage their powdery war for upwards of half an hour before a disapproving Charlie finds them and tells them that another fringe incident has occurred and that they better get all that snow out of their hair or it'll look like they both have terrible dandruff. They reluctantly call a truce and agree to go, but not before they get Charlie in the crotch...twice.


	3. Red Vines

A/N: The prompt was suggested to me by Cerulean. Phoenix7. Thanks!

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><p>Red Vines.<p>

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><p>Eight months and two days since their first meeting. 6:15 am.<p>

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><p>It's Tuesday morning, and Olivia wakes up earlier than usual. As she pulls on her clothes, she hopes Mercant, NYC's high-end grocery store, hasn't yet run out of licorice. A new batch had come in earlier that week and she had intended to buy some sooner, but work had not allowed it.<p>

But today she is free. Today is her day off.

She strolls into the store five minutes after opening time. She is relieved to find that she is the first customer of the day and that the "rare foods" aisle is still stocked partially with licorice. She scans the brightly colored packages until her eyes settle on the familiar, clear plastic tub labeled with the words "Red Vines." Smiling, she picks one up and heads to the check out counter.

The woman at the counter takes a look at the licorice and asks, "Special treat?"

Olivia nods. "It's for a friend's birthday."

"Alright, that'll be seventy-five dollars."

Olivia lets out a low whistle as she pulls out her wallet. "The last time I was here, it was only sixty-five." She pauses. "Is the price negotiable-?"

"Not on these Red Vines, honey. Several more acres of the licorice plant were destroyed by a tear last week, and we're already offering the best price in town." The cashier gives her a knowing look.

"Fine." Olivia hands over several bills, and the cashier rings up her purchase.

With her tub of Red Vines, Olivia makes the commute to Fringe Division's athletic facilities. She knows that the birthday boy will be there playing soccer with the Defense Department's Intramural League.

She first looks for him at the outdoor field, but it's closed for renovation. At the indoor field, she spots him kicking a ball around with another agent. She stands on the sidelines and waits for him to finish playing. She muses that he plays in a way quite different from the way he approaches fringe assignments. On fringe cases, he is calm and level-headed, while on the soccer field, he is aggressive and rash. She laughs when the ball is stolen from him in a heated moment, a sound that is enough to make him notice her presence.

"Olivia!" he calls, turning to wave at her, a goofy grin spreading on his face. "Come to see me play?"

She shrugs in feigned nonchalance. "Maybe. Are you any good?"

"Only the best." He turns back to the game, hands on his hips, when the ball flies right at him, smacking him squarely in the middle of his face.

"Agent Lee! Sorry!" His soccer partner calls, as Olivia jogs towards Lincoln with concern. Reaching him, she asks, "Lincoln, you okay? Are you alright?"

He brushes her questions aside and says, "I'm fine! I'm fine..." But when Olivia tugs his hand away from his face, she sees that he's not fine, not really, because right over his left eye is a massive bruise.

She intakes a breath sharply. "Ow, Lincoln. That...that looks pretty bad..."

He chuckles and turns away. "A bruise is a bruise, Liv. It'll heal. No biggie."

"I think I'll go get you some cooling ointment, though, before it swells up and you can't see. I'll be right back." She rushes off to the infirmary, disregarding his vehement cries of _no, I don't need ointment_—the words of his wounded ego—and retrieves several packets of FreEze. When she returns to the field, she finds him sitting on the bleachers, dabbing blood from his nose with a tissue.

"You just can't catch a break, can you?" she comments as she sits down next to him and rips open a packet of ointment.

Lincoln smiles ruefully, and says, "It's not much blood." He then extends a hand for the ointment, but Olivia swats it away and instead squeezes the ointment onto her own fingers and gingerly, gently, applies it to his yellow and green bruise.

The relief is immediate and evident, for the swelling stops and Lincoln whispers, "Thanks, Liv. It feels better already."

"Anytime, buddy," she answers, watching him pinch the bridge of his nose to stem the blood flow. "I bet this wasn't how you imagined the day to start out, huh?" He shakes his head, and chuckling, Olivia remembers she has something to give him.

She presents to him the tub of licorice. His eyes widen.

"Whoah, Liv! Red Vines?"

"Yep."

"What for?"

"For being alive. Though injured."

He laughs. "How'd you know I like licorice?"

"Charlie told me," she answers. "And I saw you eating some last month."

"Thank you." He smiles, looking down at the tub in his lap.

"Happy birthday," she replies.

He looks up at her, surprised. "How'd you know it's my birthday? Did Charlie tell you that too?"

She snorts. "Nope. I figured that out all on my own."

"How?"

"I pulled up your file."

He gasps. "Shame, shame, Olivia! _That_ is _classified information_."

She punches him in the arm. "Yeah, well, I'm not one to follow the rules."

"No, you are not." He looks down at the tub in his lap again, falling silent.

Olivia looks at him. "Hey, whatcha thinking about, birthday boy?"

"Nothing," he answers. "Just that I'd really like to hug you right now, but then you'd be covered in blood."

"Well," she says, leaning towards him. "That has never stopped _me_ before."


	4. Doublesided Tape

A/N: This one is for Elaine (leroidumonde) on Tumblr.

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><p>Double-sided tape.<p>

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><p>Two years, two months, and three days since their first meeting. 10:47 pm.<p>

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><p>"What the heck is <em>this<em>?" Lincoln asks, eyes wide as he stares at the tape dispenser on Liv's coffee table.

"Uh, I do believe that is _double-sided tape_," Liv answers, amused. "It's the latest and _greatest_ invention by Kirotech."

"Tape? Who still uses tape anyway?" Lincoln asks, picking up the dispenser for a closer examination. "Double-sided, too? _Double-sided_? You mean…"

Liv laughs. "Oh my _God_, Lincoln! Could you _be_ more of a kid?" She takes the dispenser from his hand, tears a strip of tape from it, and sticks it onto his forehead. "Unless…wait. You're not saying you've really _never_ seen double-sided tape before, are you?"

Lincoln gingerly peels the piece of tape from his forehead. "I'm a scientist working for the government, Liv. We don't associate with such ancient and outdated technologies as _tape_."

"Okay, okay!" Liv holds her hands up in a sign of surrender. But she's still weirded out by his not recognizing something as ubiquitous as _double-sided tape_. As she traipses into the kitchen for a glass of wine in celebration of their escaping yet _another_ life-threatening fringe case unharmed, she asks, "So when _was _the last time you used tape, Lincoln? When you were a kid?"

Lincoln scratches the back of his neck and seats himself on a bar-stool at her kitchen counter. "Maybe when I was seven or eight. I had to tape together a print of Manet's painting, 'The Lunch on the Grass,' because I accidentally ran into it."

"You 'ran' into a painting? …Were you running with scissors?"

"I said I ran into a _print_ of a painting, not the painting itself. And yes, I was running with scissors."

"Shame, shame, Lincoln!" Liv says, placing a glass in front of him and pouring him a healthy dose of white wine. "I hope your daddy punished you for your heinous crime, rich boy. I've never seen or heard of Manet's 'The Lunch on the Grass,' but it sounds fancy." She smirks and begins to fill her own glass with liquor.

"'Rich boy,' Liv? Of all the derogatory terms you could've used, you went with 'rich boy.'"

"Well, you _were_ better off than most of us growing up."

"Well, _yeah, _but I don't like being discriminated against for—"

"Lincoln, let's drop this. Just…promise me you won't run with scissors ever again," she says cautiously.

Lincoln gives her a small smile. "_Right_. That's a big promise to make, Liv. I don't think that's possible. Running without scissors would cut all the _fun_ out of my life!"

"Is reading science textbooks and memorizing the periodic table not fun enough for you?"

"That's second grade stuff. I need something…spicier."

"You know, if you really wanted something spicy, we could go out for Thai food. Trust me, it might just save your life."

"So are you asking me out on a date, Miss-I'm-Already-Seeing-Someone?"

"Haha, very funny. I'm asking you out to lunch as a friend and as the woman who has had her life saved multiple times by you. Hopefully you'll continue doing so until until I retire. Or die. Either one will work."

"Here's hoping _science_ makes it so that we never do." Lincoln lifts his glass. "Cheers, Liv."

"Cheers, Lincoln."


	5. Glass

A/N: This drabble was inspired by the season 2 episode, _What Lies Below_, in which Peter contracts the virus that makes him kind of...crazy, and I wanted explore a parallel situation in which this happened to Altlivia and _her_ partner, Lincoln.

Happy reading!

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><p>Glass.<p>

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><p>One year, two months, and sixteen days since their first meeting. 7:32 pm.<p>

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><p>If there's one thing in the world Olivia Dunham hates, it's a flickering light. This particularly stubborn one, embedded in the ceiling of a narrow hallway at Fringe Research Facilities and Hospital, is no exception. Within three minutes, it receives a grand total of eleven frustrated glares and nine very irritated sighs. <em>Shouldn't the billions of dollars spent funding the defense department be enough to maintain one silly little lightbulb?<em>

Apparently not.

Olivia, wringing her hands nervously, sits on the stiff-backed aluminum bench under the _damned_ flickering light for another fifteen minutes before the doors at last open. She looks up from her black combat boots and sees a nurse hovering above her, telling _it's alright to enter now, Colonel Broyles is waiting._

With a nod, she stands and passes through the automatic sliding doors, silently hoping beyond hope that her commanding officer won't bear her any bad news. It's a foolish,_ pointless_ wish, of course. Olivia can tell from the somber look on Broyles' face, as he stands outside the empty examination room, that bad news is all she will be receiving.

Steeling herself, Olivia walks up to the colonel and salutes him. "Sir."

Broyles' wise, dark-brown eyes shift away from the examination room's reinforced glass window and land on her face.

"Olivia," he says, and this mere statement of her name is enough to set her heart racing with fear. Broyles never calls her by her first name. _It's usually "Dunham" or "agent"… _

Clenching her hands into fists at her sides, she replies, "What is it, sir?"

"I'm sorry."

She closes her eyes for few seconds, her heart sinking. _I'm sorry…?_ _I'm sorry? _

With great self-control, at last she is able to bring herself to ask in a shaky voice, "'Sorry,' sir? What do you mean? He isn't…he isn't…d-de…" Her voice trails off, and Olivia berates herself for being so weak, for not being able to even _utter_ that horrible, ugly, disgusting _four-letter word_.

"He is not dead," Broyles answers. However, Olivia isn't put to ease yet. She is waiting for the "but."

"But…" _Ah, here it comes. _"The doctors…" Broyles pauses. "They _need_ him, agent. They…they need to _use _him to find the cure. Secretary Bishop's orders."

In that instant, quicker than lightning strikes, quicker than glass shatters, Olivia is thrown back to her sixth birthday party: swimming at the local pool, getting her strap caught in the turbine, sinking slowly, drowning…

With effort, she swallows what is forcing its way up her throat and says hoarsely, "'Need him', colonel? '_Use him'_?"

"Yes. The doctors need him—his DNA—and _can_ use him because he's a _Fringe agent._ As you know, before taking the position, he took a vow to serve, to protect—"

"But you don't know what they could _do_ to him!" she yells. "They might drive him insane, or _kill him_—"

"Madness is the primary effect of the toxin, which means insanity has already taken root, Olivia. He's _already insane._" He clears his throat. "I'm sorry."

Olivia's head starts to shake left to right, then back again, on its own accord. "You're wrong…" She starts to back away, though she has no room to go anywhere. "No…no…no!" _There's _no way_ he's that far gone. Not this soon…_

Broyles looks at her with an expression a-liken to pity. "He doesn't remember your name."

"The hell he doesn't…" Olivia snaps her eyes at the examination room. Still empty. "Where is he?"

"He's being treated—"

"I need to see him, Colonel. Please."

Sighing, Broyles agrees to her wish. He gestures at the nurses to transport Lincoln into the little room behind the wide, glass windows, and…there. There he is. Two large men grip his arms, half-dragging him, half-restraining him as they shove him into a metal chair before leaving him alone.

Olivia approaches the window slowly. It's her partner; it's him. His eyes are wide and frantic. Crazed. But when his blue ones finally find her green, they clear almost instantly.

"…Liv?" His voice is muffled by the glass, but she can still hear him.

"Lincoln," she whispers at the sight of him. "Lincoln!"

"What are you doing here, Liv?" He looks at her warily. "Are you…are you sick too?"

"No. No, I came to see you! I came to see…I _had_ to see…to make sure you were okay."

"Thanks, Liv. I know you've got my back."

"Yes. Yes, Lincoln, I've got your back. I'm watching out for you, you know that? I'm always looking out for you."

He smiles. "You're my…_partner_, right?"

Olivia nods wildly. "Yeah…don't forget it, okay?"

"Okay." Lincoln puts his hand up against the glass. "I want to get out of here, Liv."

She puts her own hand against his. The glass feels cold underneath her sticky palm. "I'll find a way to get you out."

"You promise?"

"I promise." Olivia bites her lip. She has no idea how to _keep_ that promise, but damn it if she isn't going to try…"I promise, Lincoln. I'm going to get you out. We're going to find you a cure. You'll be safe and sound in no time, okay? You hear that? In no time!"

He shakes his head sadly, unconvinced. "It's okay, Liv. It's only a matter of time…"

"No! No! Lincoln, you listen to me! _Everything_ is going to be_ fine_. Fine! Everything's going to work out. You'll get out! We'll go get some licorice or something. It'll be like it's always been. Just you and me."

"That sounds nice, Liv."

"It's true! It's true! It'll happen." Olivia puts her other hand upon the glass, wanting desperately to form fists and punch her way into the room. "I need you, Lincoln. I need you to save my ass every day, remember? You and me on Fringe cases. You save my life every day!"

"I want to do that, Liv, but the doctors said that I can't work Fringe cases anymore because they need to cut out my brain-"

"No, Lincoln, no! I'll get you out of there before they do that. I promise. I promise."

"What if you break your promise…?"

"I won't." Her eyes are filled with tears, but her voice doesn't shake. "I won't break my promise. And you know why? Because I've got—"

"My back, I know." Lincoln taps his fingers on the window. "I'm going to miss you, Liv."

"Don't say that…"

"I'm out of time, Liv." The men are coming back. Olivia shakes her head frantically at them, glancing back at Broyles who had looked away.

"Colonel, I'm not done speaking with Lincoln! More time, please! More time!"

"The doctor's need him for examination _now_, agent…" Broyles voice is soft. "I'm sorry."

"No! Lincoln!" Olivia pounds her hands against the glass as the men started to drag him away. "_Lincoln!_"

He looks at her, the madness threatening to consume him again. But before he loses himself, he says, "I don't know if they'll let me make any more phone calls, so call my brother for me, okay? Tell him I'm sorry I stole that model car he built in the fifth grade! Tell him I thought it was awesome, and that's why I stole it! Tell him I'm…I'm…"

The door closes. He's gone.

Olivia is left trembling, shaking with sobs. _Lincoln…_

She isn't ready to lose her partner. She isn't ready to lose one of her best friends. No.

Not yet.


End file.
